


we stand hand in hand

by MiathiBlue



Series: they say you are their sun, as if your guidance has ever led them to safety [2]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Original Character-centric, Original Fiction, Original Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 18:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11995563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiathiBlue/pseuds/MiathiBlue
Summary: A look at the relationships between my ocs.Formatted for Tumblr.





	we stand hand in hand

He was the  **first** one to call you Thirteen, voice teasing. It had just been a joke at first, but as you grew older the memories of  **Saoyun** being called become  _fewer_ and  _fewer_ , overplayed with a nickname gone too far. You can't even remember how he became  **Twelve** , you just know that he wanted to follow,  **always** wanted to follow.

( _Thirteen_ , he teases, skin tanning under the summer heat. There are  _freckles_ dotting his nose and he squeaks when you point them out, cheeks flushing. You are  **ten** years old and your biggest problem is that the  _sun_ will set soon, but you aren't ready to leave yet.  _Twelve_ , you reply, and  _smile_.)

He looks at you with  **starry** eyes, and you have to tilt your head back to see.  _It's unfair,_  you complain, even as you  **tower** above all the other girls. He  _laughs_ at you, and you  _laugh_ too, fondness like  **starbursts** in your chest. Happiness  _suits_ him, and the memories of his carefree smile will  **haunt** you for years to come.

( _Thirteen_ , he murmurs, a single word weighted with a thousand more. His hand finds yours,  **blood** smearing over his tanned fingers. You are  **twenty** years old,and you remember the names of  _every_ person you've killed.  _Twelve_ , you reply, and your eyelashes tremble with  **tears**.)

You decided your fate the same day of your first  **fight** , a bone deep shame at the  _delight_ of watching them run. _I'm going to be a soldier,_  you say, and you look up into his surprise.  _Me too,_  he says, and suddenly it's hard to breath, heart twisting in a horrible,  **horrible** guilt.

( _Thirteen_ , he sighs, apologies unspoken but aired anyway. You want to  **scream** as the boy turned man looks down upon you, smile  _crumbling_ at the edges and shoulders bowed. You are **twenty - five**  years old and you are only now atoning for your sins, taking his hand to find the light.  _Twelve_ , you protest, because it has  **always** been your fault.)


End file.
